Another Survivor, A Raider's Tale
by Graverobber Jake
Summary: This is a slightly different take on the story of Fallout 4. The same basic events... sort of, but with the spin of being played through the eyes of a new and wholly different Sole Survivor. Rated M for Language, Gratuitous Violence, Drug Use, Character Death. (like a LOT of it.)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1  
** My name is Carter Brennan. I have been up and down the greater part of what remains of a land once called America. I've been from New Vegas to the New California Republic, and I was tired. I had been tired for about three days since entering the fringes of the Commonwealth wasteland. Though, really it could hardly be called a wasteland from where I stood. This place had so much green in it, even the blasted ancient trees of yesteryear had the look of something … vital. The brush had recovered pretty well too, carpeting and obscuring the landscape with undergrowth.

This oddly did not put me at ease. I was a Mojave Wastelander. Born and raised outside the shelter of vaults or tall ramshackle walls. I was used to seeing nothing but grim, dry, brown desert wasteland. That was familiar. That was normal. That was home. Though, I say ' _was_ ' a Mojave Wastelander, past tense. Y'see I had left the Mojave six years ago and hadn't stopped moving since. This greenery wasn't totally new to me, but it was still far more abundant than say, the Capitol Waste, or New California.

So I was marching on through the wilderness and hills of what had once been Massachusetts, a name that most no one even recalled outside of the Commonwealth. As was my habit, I started talking to myself. I know it sounds kinda crazy, but you get lonely when you're out walking the waste with no one around besides your gun for company on cold nights. Don't read too much into that.

"Y'know." I mumbled to myself, brushing aside scraggly bushes, careful of my steps and eyes alert. "This would be a lot more pleasant if it weren't so quiet. Gimme a psycho-damned gecko cry or… a coyote howl… this quiet is makin' me think a fucking Deathclaw is on my ass…" Hey, it was true, and it wouldn't have been the first time.

I had stopped marching as soon as I saw that the hill I was on was clear of brush and trees for the most part. I clambered up the path with my pack sliding off my shoulder, since it seemed like a good place to camp. I found my luck had also won out with the discovery of ancient, ruined bits of a portable shelter and boxes with a few paltry goodies. Roll of duct-tape and a couple screwdrivers. I had about four of the latter, but I had been running low on the tape, so it was a good find. After pitching my tent I looked around for other bits of junk to pick through.

Half hour of searching before dark didn't get me more than a couple rounds for my gun, Charlotte. I like to think every Wastelander worth their salt had a name for their trusty side-arm. Suppose I'm just romantic like that. She wasn't much, just a 10mm pistol with a long barrel I had converted from a revolver of the same caliber. Her grip had been from the same gun and was shiny black wood. I didn't like revolver's myself, though I'm told they're less likely to jam than the clip-action. She'd never failed me in a pinch, so I suppose she was just lucky like that. Why 'Charlotte'? I just thought the name sounded nice.

I didn't start a fire, I find it attracts more things and people than the dark does, so I just pitched my tent and set a couple alarm wires around it before sleeping the night away, holding Charlotte for security. In the morning I packed up and looked across the shining metal platform that I swear to you couldn't have been there before when I went to bed. I must have missed it in the night. I mean, I saw the guard rails around it but I just assumed this spot had held a children's playground or something.

But no, it was a large metal platform, circular and with odd painted marks on it that I'm sure must have made some sense back before the world exploded. I walked around it. Then I walked around it again, just be sure. I was pretty sure I knew what this was, even though I had only seen a pretty sorry excuse for one back home. I was looking at a Vault Entrance. This wasn't just a major score, this was a phenomenal and dangerous score. Sure, sometimes vaults had a populace of slightly-off but well-meaning friendlies, but nine times in ten they were death traps.

Either the inhabitants went crazy, or the vault itself was deadly all on its own. So for all I knew, there could be a giant robot down there, a group of people with the heads of Radroaches, or Death-claws with Flamers surgically attached to their arms. That last one is something I've actually **SEEN**. So anyone who's half-decent at the Wastelander life knows that a Vault is a psycho-damned good way to get killed if you put greed before good sense.

Unfortunately, the folks who raised me would have written the book on greed before good sense, if more than a few of them were literate. So I began having a poke around.

"I mean, I know it was a long shot, but the best way to not look foolish later is to check for the obvious first right?" I remember saying to myself, as I looked in and around every nook and ancient cranny I could find. "I mean, I sure would feel stupid if there was just an 'open door here' switch and I missed it." I spent the better part of the day trying to figure out how this thing would even open in the first place, so much debris and shrubbery and leaves had covered it. I had just done my twentieth lap, hot tired and hungry as hell, before I decided to sit down.

I broke out some rations; bits of molerats and radroach à la stick. I hadn't had the chance to do any hunting in this area, so I wanted to keep eating light, which meant I was only slightly less starving when the rumbling started. It was deep, loud, weird siren noises started going off and I immediately rolled behind a rock for cover. The rumbling was getting worse, the ground was shaking. Thought it must be an earthquake before I remembered what I had devoted half my day to, rather than satisfying my growing hunger pangs. I drew Charlotte and waited.

The steel doors opened up in the floor of the clearing, pouring dirt and fluttering leaves into a big circular chasm beneath. A grinding sound began, like a loud sliding of metal on metal that hadn't seen any lubricant in a couple hundred years. It was a wonder that the mechanisms worked at all, but they did, and a platform rose up from the depths as I looked on from behind my rock. A person stood in the middle of it. He was male, dressed in a blue vaultsuit with the three vertical bars of yellow in the middle of his back. He seemed dazed and dazzled by the sun, since he put his hand up in front of his face. He cut a pretty impressive figure though. Fresh clean skin shining bronze in the afternoon sun, light glinting off the Pip-Boy on his arm and the shiny Vault-tec metal platform around him. Looking out across the Commonwealth wilderness in his blue jumpsuit, like a whole new world had opened up to him, ready to be explored.

I shot him twice in the back of the head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
**

So, I may have been stretching things a bit when I said I was a Wastelander. That isn't strictly true. In all honesty, the best thing I can say is that I'm a Raider. A bonafide, Thieving, Drugged-up, Shoot-your-face-as-soon-as-look-at-you kinda raider. I used to run with the scariest and most ruthless crew in the Mojave, barring the Legion. I used to be a Fiend, and I'm almost proud of that.

I walked over to where he fell. he was sprawled in a pool of blood on the shiny metal. The vault boy wasn't carrying much, but what he had on him was at least interesting. The Vault-suit was okay looking but I left it, really didn't feel like peeling off the guy. What he had on his arm, however, was what interested me most. It was a Pip-boy. wrist-mounted model that looked comfortable, durable, and old. I undid the latches and tugged it off of him, placing it on my own arm. After a few seconds it bipped and beeped at me, indicating it was synced with its new owner.

I don't think I need to explain how phenomenally useful it would be having a portable all-in-one, Health-monitor/Geiger-counter/whatever else the little gadget could do. As such, I was happy as a mire-lurk munching on a toddler when I put that thing on my arm. I was almost too ecstatic to notice his face when I turned him over to pat him down.

Or rather, his lack of face, as things turned out. the exit wounds from two 10mm bullets left him with one chiseled jawline and not much else. I shuddered, but I had seen worse. I've seen my boss slow roast people...before and after doing worse things to them. Memories had the habit of making me freeze sometimes, so I kinda had to shake myself outta my funk before getting the rest of vault-boy's swag.

He also had a snub-nosed 10mm pistol, a security baton and a couple other sorta useful things. No duct tape though, but I suppose you cant get everything. The question was, do I gather up my new found treasures and leave? Or do I explore the vast mysteries that lay beneath my feet.

"I mean, on the one hand: this guy probably didn't know what all coulda been useful down there... on the other, there could be anything down there, and clearly vault-boy didn't wanna stay." after more internal and external debate, I settled on leavin'. I had this place marked on my map after all, I could come back with a team if I wanted. meanwhile, no one was getting in without a pip-boy, right? So no worries.

I looked at the map, there it was, marking reading 'vault 111.' Oh! So the lines on his back were numbers. That made sense. I couldn't really remember the last time I'd seen a vault-jumper up close. I mean I might've, but ... anyway. I decided to head to the next little blip the map showed.

"Sanctuary Hills..." I muttered, "Sounds... nice. hope they're not expecting visitors."

Sanctuary Hills, as indicated by the map on the Pip-boy, was a ruin of barely standing houses. their steel beams sticking up from collapsed roofs and walls like bone out of decayed flesh. There were maybe three houses that were still standing. Gave me the creeps I can tell you. The only time I felt somewhat at ease was when I smashed a few bloat-flies and radroaches with the new baton from vault-boy. Good eating, radroach, if you got past the whole giant bug thing. Didn't folks used to eat huge red bugs boiled in butter of somethin' way back when? Lobster I think it was called.

I suppose I should have been grateful to see the Mr. Handy bobbin and snipping at some hedges nearby one of the houses, but I had been to some of the old factories that are left out in the wastes. There's a good reason most scavengers leave them alone if they don't have military hardware. Between saw-blades, flamethrowers and those weird looking pincer hands its a wonder they never rose up and conquered us before the bombs dropped. That's not even considering the suped-up military version, Mr. Gutsy, and they are still pretty much the bottom-tier of killer robots in the wasteland.

I decided to approach cautiously. I sort of crept up behind it, Charlotte ready in my hand. As soon as I rounded the bend I grunted in what I hoped was a commanding voice.

"Claws and Appendages in the air, Metal Man." It may have sounded cooler in my head. The robot turned, and basically nearly killed me with surprise by trilling happily through his vocalizer.

"AS I LIVE AND BREATHE...IT'S YOU...ITS REALLY REALLY YOU!"

* * *

On my way to Concord, I reflected on the hows and whys regarding my sudden change in destination. After I picked my eyebrows up from where they had landed after rocketing off my forehead, I think I responded to the giddy robot with something along the lines of...

"Wha?" It might have been as provocative as "Huh?"

"I see Sir is a touched shell shocked." the robot whirs a little, "Pardon the inelegant turn of phrase Sir. Oh but it's so GOOD to see Sir at last after so many years!" the Mr. Handy seemed positively giddy, and for whatever reason, thought it knew me. I of course had never seen it before in my life.

"Uh. Years. Really." I was still kinda thrown by the jolly tin can, "How many would that be?" I also figured the happier it was, yappin' away at me, the less likely it would take it's buzz-saw to my cranium.

"Yes well, if my chronometer is still functioning properly I would say its been 210, give or take a little for the earth's rotation. What will the Missus say? Doesn't do to be two hundred years late to dinner!"

"Hold on, Missus?"

"Yes, the Missus! oh she'll be furious with what's happened to the garden..." the little eye-stalk things drooped when it brought this up. "where is she by the by?"

"She...ah. isn't...Erm. I don't have a..." I honestly had no idea what to tell this metal moron. I didn't know why it thought I was his master, and no idea who this 'Missus' was. "She's gone. Not here. Probably dead, Idunno." I gave him my best 'What can ya do' kinda shrug.

"Sir... these things you're saying, these ...Horrible things." the voice, quivering almost, but perhaps that was just static, "I...I believe you need a distraction. Yes! a distraction to calm this your nerves. Clearly you're not at all well."

"Uh... sure?"

"Oh, lovely! this will be just the ticket!" the robot bubbled with servile glee, "It's been so long since we had a proper family activity. Checkers, or perhaps Charades! Shaun always did like charades.. Is young master Shaun with you?"

"Who's master Shaun?"

The robot stared at me with all three of his weird bubble eyes.

"...What."

"It's worse than I thought... you're experiencing hunger induced ... amnesia! not eating properly for two hundred years will do that I'm afraid."

"Look. Robot."

"Codsworth, Sir."

"Robot. I don't have any idea what you're on about. Are you broken or something? You keep yapping on about things that don't make sense"

"Oh... oh my Sir. It's just been Horrible." it practically sobbed. "Two Centuries of not having anyone to talk to, anyone to serve." Oho? "I spent the first decade trying to keep the floors waxed, but nothing gets nuclear fallout from vinyl wood, Nothing!" it zoomed a bit close to my face, "And don't get me started on the futility of dusting a collapsed house... and the Car. The Car! How do you polish RUST?"

Things were getting off track in an incredibly crazy way. "Metal man. Do you know anything about ...Food around here? People in the area? Towns? Anything?"

"I'm afraid I don't know much at all, Sir. The bombs came" oh here we go again. I sort of tuned out while the robot yammered on and on about the bombs from the war supposedly 200 years ago. I only started paying attention again when it started pushing a holotape into my chest.

"Whats this?"

"I believe its a private message for you sir."

"hm."

"Perhaps we... could search the town for signs of them?"

"It's a ghost town, Robot. no one's here besides you, maybe a few radroaches but that's it."

"Well, you Can't give up, Sir. What about the city?" City? Finally some progress. "Concord is nearby, and well, the people there have only shot at me a few times."

"...Can't imagine why." I grumbled, "Well that settles it, I'm going traveling."

"Good luck sir, I'm sure you'll find young Shaun. I'll just... stay here and secure the home-front."

* * *

So now I was off to Concord. Hell, the robot might even be right, If there were rough characters back there, I might be able to join up with a new gang. It'd been a lonely six years since I left the Mojave. Who knows? There might even be decent pickings if I kept my eyes open, and Sanctuary Hills had potential to be a first rate Raider...town? outpost? HQ?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3  
**  
I was pondering the possible names for such a hive of scum and villainy when I strolled into a dog. Now, I might not seem like an overly paranoid, hyper-sensitive guy, but I'm kinda trained to track movement and sound. It's just a thing you pick up in the wastes. So... say, if a wild dog was nearby, growling and slobbering as it charged me, I would have warning and time to react.

But if a dog is just sitting there quietly, minding its own business like a JERK, how the hell am I supposed to notice it? It yelped when I toppled over it. I yelped when I face-planted into the dirt. After some mutual scrambling away and sizing each other up, I think we both got a second surprise when neither of us tried to immediately maul the other. It was a weird moment, to say the least, and I could tell the dog seemed to think so too. He was a mutt, obviously, kinda dark brown and black all over. Good camouflage. He wasn't starving, and looked relatively healthy, suppose that made One of us.

"Hey."

"Woof."

"So... uh. Good...dog?" I'm not all that great with animals. The last peaceful contact I had with domestic animals was washing down my Boss's brahmin. There are certain things I don't regret leaving behind. The dog apparently agreed with me, or wanted to convince me that it was, in fact, a good dog. It rolled unto its back and looked up at me. So I pet the dog. Having calmed down from the initial panic of tripping over a large animal, I took in my surroundings as I dusted myself off. Dog rolled up unto his feet and his tail started wagging.

"...no."

"Woof"

"No." I said with a bit more force. The dog whined in response to this, and for some reason, that got to me. I had shot people before and not really cared much about what they had to say about it. Yet this stupid mutt was pullin my heartstrings with just whines and a pathetic look.

"Listen," I said, "Just... No. I'm not putting up with another mouth to feed, I mean, it's not like your a big scary attack dog, mutt. What kinda dog just lets a big clumsy raider trip over him like that? You didn't even growl or nuthin!" The dog looked more than a little reproached, tail behind his legs. "See? This right here? I don't need this."  
It was at that moment the earth exploded under me and I fell about six feet straight down.

* * *

I landed in a heap of trash, bits of rotted meat and other things I don't even want to remember. I'm pretty sure I was screaming at the time, nothing coherent like 'Help' or 'Oh No, Vicious Rodents'. More like the kinda screaming your brain makes when it has no idea what to do with the situation it has been given. Like a protracted, mental table-flip of terror. It was dark and stank like all sorts of things ate, defecated, fucked, died, rotted and were eaten here, all year long.

Handy tip to Wastelanders: Mole Rats have a certain cry to them. most things in the Wasteland do, and if you're smart, you learn what loud, nightmare-inducing sound matches what rad-spawn. Mole-rats, in my experience, have a dry throaty hiss-gurgle that reverberates in your jaw and inner ear when your close. So when you drop into a nest of the things, because one of the little jerks had caused a cave-in by trying to pop out and bite your ankles, your jaw might as well be a miniature antique jackhammer.

There were about a dozen of the little bastards, plus an oversized pale one that I took to be the Boss of the smaller ones. I didn't draw the baton, since a bit of metal wouldn't smash through their heads. It was up to bullets then. I might have had enough for each one, IF I killed each with a single shot. I pulled Charlotte out and started pulling the trigger and pistol whipping when the little bastards started leaping at me. Their pointy, filthy claws pricked my flesh through my duster as their hairless, scabby bodies rolled and clambered over me.

So, pretty much assuming I was officially a nobody, imagine my surprise when a dark furry shape bounds down unto the Boss Rat and lets loose a sound that would make a Deathclaw proud. The creatures probably had some amazing looking duel, with both jumping and biting and snapping all over the cave. I was too busy shooting and smacking the little ones to notice, until I heard a very wet sounding CR-N-CH. Pretty much all eyes were on the dog, bathed in a shaft of light from the hole above, the broken neck of the Boss Rat in his bloody teeth. I took this opportunity to shoot two of them and kill the third with my boot heel crushing its spine.

So I was covered in grime, blood, refuse, dirt, god knows what else, and here was this dog. He was looking up at me, tail wagging proudly, and damned if he didn't still have the Boss Rat in his mouth.

"Nice."

*muffled woof*

"Now, drop it and I can make us some decent meals." I said this calmly, reasonably, hell probably even happily. I was really quite endeared to the mongrel, my starving belly would soon be full, I wasn't dead, and he had actually cut a rather impressive figure during that little rescue. I was riding a pretty good high.

So of course he didn't drop it.

* * *

After some time trying to get the thing out of his mouth and him thinking it a wonderful game, we finally got out of the nest, seven mole-rat corpses between us that were still meal worthy. It was then I realized we were rather close to some sorta weird Pre-War fuel station for... rockets or whatever. Anyway, it was as good a place as any to set up camp to cook our prizes.

I never had a pet before. Lookin' at Mongrel though... I dunno. He just sorta fit me. He was lonesome, eager for a companion, and a decent denizen of the wasteland just like me. I mean, he fell right into the heart of a mole-rat nest, wait. No he didn't. He leapt into the nest to rescue me. Anyone who gives half a damn about me is alright in my book, definitely if you save me from being eaten by something.

"...How 'bout it boy?"

The dog looked up from the bone it was gnawing.

"You wanna come with? see the world? Excitement, adventure and wild shit?"

"Woof" Tail wag, tail wag. Pant Pant Pant.

"Sure. I'll take that as a 'Yes'." I ruffled his ears. So what, I'm a softy who likes his dog. Big deal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Concord probably looked better before the war. Nowadays it looked like a shelled out shit hole. buildings were toppled in places. They weren't the sheet metal and plaster homes of Sanctuary hills either. These were tall buildings of concrete and steel. bits of rubble and broken glass still crunched under my boots as I made My way through. Mongrel seemed fine, expertly navigating patches of debris. Good dog.

I put my hand to one of the walls that had been shattered, scrutinizing it. The bare, pebbled concrete was distinctly paler than the outside layer. This wall hadn't been broken down two hundred years ago. judging by the jaggedness, the brightness of the material... could have been last week. Could have been a rocket or grenade, based on the sooty blast marks around the break. I like to think I knew a thing or two about shelled out buildings and stuff like that.

One way or another, it meant people were here, and still friendly as ever.

* * *

When one is a raider, you begin to pick up on things. Likely hideouts, ambush routes, sniper blinds, artificial bottlenecks. We hunt people after all. Even the Fiends had some tactics. The one thing you should probably never do, is walk towards these signs when you hear abundant gunfire. I tried. I really really did, but guns meant people, and that many guns firing at once probably meant Mean people. Since I was looking for some Mean people, this was the best course of action to take.

After much grumbling and sighing and trying to work out better options, finding none that really helped, I resolved to try and make myself known but without making myself an enemy. Establishing chats with a bunch of raiders is like romancing a really REALLY picky girl. A girl, for the record, who just might cut your face off and wear it because that's "Just her Thing." I cut alongside choke paths rather than through them. I avoided being out in the open. I eventually made my way to a big open T-section. People on one side of the street were firing at people in the building opposite.

Tattoos, swearing, grime, erratic fire from one guy that I'm pretty sure was spaced out on something. Jet, probably. Yeah. These were the people I was looking for. On the other side, in the building were guys with weird looking Laser Rifles. Now that just aint fair.

Laser guys were holding their own pretty well. I watched one girl take a laser bolt in the shoulder and drop. I could sympathize. those things hurt like all hell. The best shot Laser side was this asshole in the window. He was layin down some good suppression fire, making the other guys keep their heads down behind burned out cars and in buildings. He hadn't spotted me yet, and I was about level with him, having climbed into a building, up to the second story window. Charlotte had a nice long barrel, but I would still need a pretty lucky shot to do more than wound him. He had a buddy too, dark fella with a brown hat. Guy was too obscured by cover, so hopefully his buddy going down would spook him.

I took aim, careful aim. The wind was low, the sun was up, Mongrel was quiet and warm beside me as I pulled the trigger.

Sometimes, when you really need her most, Luck smiles, takes out her bag, and hands you a nice fat Flush when no one has more than a pair. I watched with held breath as the back of the man's head popped all over the wall behind him and fell face-first through the window. Guns on my side stopped in confusion. I heard a female voice yell out.

"Shit was that one of Ours?"

To which I responded, "Yes! Yes! One of Yours! Fuck That Guy with the laser rifle, right?" this was followed by some contemplative silence... then:

"YEAH! FUCK THAT GUY! HE SHOT ME IN THE ARM!"

This was followed by a chorus of 'yeah's and various disparaging comments regarding the recently deceased. Brown-Hat ducked down as a hail of bullets smacked into his cover. He had lost ground now that he could only cover one side of the building at a time.

" **HEY**! Fuck that Guy in the Hat too!"I called out to my new friends that were ground-level, as I climbed down the broken stairs in the building. Meeting the girl who had gotten her arm shot by Laser guy. She was tall, had her dirt-blonde hair in a cropped mohawk, bits of metal and re-bar formed armor plates over a knee-length duster, not unlike my own. I like dusters. she was holding a bit of wadded cloth smelling strongly of ethanol to her wounded shoulder.

"You the guy what shot the Minute Man?" Wasn't sure what she meant. Raider slang could be tough to figure out sometimes when you travel from one end of the wastes to another. Maybe, 'Shot the Minute' meant showed up in the nick of time or something. It kinda sounded cool.

"Yeah." I said. I mean, I kinda felt a little uneasy. guarded answers were probably best. If a raider thinks you want something, chances are he'll just keep it, just to spite you. We're kind of assholes that way.

"Don't recognize ya." Her eyes were narrowing, "How'd you hit him?" I noticed that she was lookin over Mongrel. He was panting good naturedly, didn't seem to mind her.

"Was upstairs. You guys were keepin him busy so I ... thought I could make a nobody, be a somebody. Y'know?" I could tell from her confused expression that she was experiencing the same problem I had a few moments ago. 'Make a Nobody, be a Somebody' was term used by my Boss and his top guys. It meant killin people for profit, caps, booze or drugs. Simple, catchy, easy to spread among strung-out druggies. It was something we could repeat to ourselves when we felt low.

"Lemme see yer piece."

"Can't ya take me out to dinner first?" I kinda clenched up a little when I said this. Sometimes, after walking out alone for who knows how long, I get mouthy when I meet people. Sometimes I can't turn it off. It REALLY gets in the way when I try to make nice with Unfriendlies. She took it in her stride though, smiling even. It was a nice smile, she had almost all of her teeth.

"Call me Bess."

"Brennan"

She took me back behind the building where they were taking cover and I was greeted by a bunch of dirty, twitchy, inked-up, chemed-out folks with drawn guns, looking ready to blow my head off if I looked at them funny.

It felt like home.

* * *

Author's note  
Jake here! Yeah, this was fun, but I hope people don't mind the OC's. I kinda consider all the unnamed settlers, raiders, addicts and such like to be open to interpretation, so I made up about four to five for narrative purposes. The story will continue to revolve around _our_ Sole Survivor. (he is after all, as far as we know, the only surviving Fiend out there.) Don't worry, he will eventually run into characters you know and love, who knows? He might not even shoot them in the head!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

I was greeted with loaded arms, tense introductions, and suspicious glances. Bess showed me to a harsh looking fella with strange looking tattoo I hadn't seen before. Half of his face had been inked to look like a stylized assaultron head. A red circle around his eye, inside a black heart and cross shape, with dark green in the negative space. He kinda gave the impression of tearing of one of those robots' heads to use as a model. Mongrel looked uneasy at him, body low to the ground and his tail down.

"Pops, this scavver-"

"Raider." I corrected with a mumble,

"This _Guy_ was the one what shot the Minute Man."

The man, unfolded his arms, I counted two laser burns. "Shame. wanted to do for him m'self." When I say he rumbled, you probably get the impression of a big burly man with a deep voice. This man was big and burly but his voice wasn't just deep, it was a Yaogwai's growl. You could feel his voice against your bones. I really, really, _really_ didn't want to piss him off. "What's yer name, boy."

"Brennan, Boss." boss was usually an acceptable title for raiders who were worth a damn. Only time you need to worry about calling someone by title was when raiders turned military, then you need to worry about forgetting their title or rank or whatever.

"Not yer Boss... Gristle is the boss, under Jared. Name's Warren Work." My mistake then. "So. ye marched yerself done 'ere to turf ye don't belong and saw a gunfight... felt ye could do the neighborly thing and shoot a guy, make nice and join a crew?" he looked at me skeptically.

"...well. I mean... I can shoot _more_ guys if that's the problem" I said, helpfully. I wasn't ready for the guffaws that followed my statement but I should have been. Warren didn't crack a smile, but nodded.

"Let's meet Gristle."  
_

Gristle was a hard-bitten older cuss who seemed the sort who kept people like Warren around due to mutual respect and fear. He was sitting on a car a ways away from the action, a large-caliber rifle across his hips and various knives on his armored person. His white hair was done up in a long mohawk, his skin was blackened by ash and grime. "Well." he rasped, dry as a bone. he sounded like he'd smoked whole trees all his life. "What the hell do you want."

"Shoot people, take their shit." I answered promptly, "Work for your crew."

"Work hm? good. I don't babysit nobody." he growled, leaning close to me. as he did, I realized something that made me just a little bit more afraid. The dilated, bloodshot eyes, the flared and inflamed nostrils, the heavy breathing, the pin-prick scars all over his arms. He was a Psycho addict. He might even have been on the stuff while he was talking to me. "I have a simple rule to live by. If you don't work, you don't eat. You look like a worker, so work. New blood goes in first."

He pointed at the museum. "In there. there are two things I want. One is up top, a suit of old power armor inside a crashed vertibird." He held up one finger, "the other is an old woman. Jared wants her alive. kill the rest." He held up two fingers, then splayed his hand out in front of my nose "we'll follow in five minutes. If you haven't killed at least one of those mice you aint no good to me." the hand shoved me backward by my face. He was definitely strong. "Get movin."

All in all, this was one of the better interviews I've had.

Mongrel was at my heels again, It seemed he liked being out of the presence of those two. I was sliding along the side of the museum so Brown Hat couldn't get a shot on me. I took the chance to grab the rifle from the guy who I'd shot out of a window. It was strange looking. I had never seen this particular design before.

It had a hand-crank on the one side, someone had bolted and taped the charging and firing mechanism to some kinda old-time rifle, with a second focusing thing on the end of the rifle barrel. I knew the things fired but I honestly never saw the appeal in energy weapons, always afraid they'd explode on me or something. I tossed it back down and got out Charlotte. I only had eleven rounds left, so I hoped they'd do it.

I shouldered open the door with a grunt, my pistol low and to the ground. There were a pair of stairs opening up to a wide open area that was open to the second story due to a collapsed ceiling. Shit.

I ran and vaulted over the right-hand railing as bullets and a laser blast shot the area I was just in. I heard a yelp from Mongrel. The dog had followed me over the rails but had got his leg grazed by a bullet. He whimpered a little but crouched low, baring his teeth at the second story. That hound was a real trooper, you know? But at the time the only thought that was going through my mind was this.

Those mother-fuckers just shot my **DOG**.

I ducked behind a wall opened my jacket, strung over my shirt was a bandolier, each pocket holding something precious to me. I thumbed one open and gingerly pulled out what was inside. A yellow syringe with two canisters attached to it with a bit of leather and wires connected to the top and bottom of it. I took a deep breath, peeking round the corner, gun in one hand, drug in the other.

The thing people think of, when they think about Psycho, is that it makes you stronger, scarier, more prone to violence. This is true, but Psycho doesn't just make you swing a barbwire bat harder. It plays with your instincts too. It makes you hit harder with _everything._ You hold guns more firmly, recoil seems to affect you less, your eyes pinpoint places that will just do more damage, your hands guide the gun to shoot those places like a trick-shot back in New Vegas. If it's about hurting something, Psycho will make you better at it, guaranteed.

Unfortunately it's tough to make, stupidly easy to get addicted to and has really, really bad withdrawals. If you get hooked, you need daily doses of Addictol for about a week to flush it out of your system.

I felt the drug rush through me, warm, hot, boiling... then ice. Pretty sure I screamed something laced with adrenaline and violence before I blew off someone's head with a shot from Charlotte. The ice was what I really loved about Psycho. You take a bullet? you feel it, but its a cold pain in a limb made out of icy muscles and bones. Everything feels so smooth when you're made of ice; lean out, take aim, pull trigger, roll back. Dive through a door.

The room was full of people. Statues. People move, people breathe. Crash through them. Don't stop, just run. Kill everything. Pop pop. Another scavver down. This was easy. Cold is running down my shoulder though. I can fix that with a Stim-pak. Bottom of the stairs, now top of the stairs. Running crouched down through hallways. I hear movement up ahead so I dive into a side room. Gunfire is dampened, making only popping sounds. Pop pop pop, pop pop. Someone's shouting, was it me?

"-NEED OUR HELP!"

I have one grenade, old one I scavenged off a supply truck. should I use it? should I take a chance with Charlotte? I shrug and pull the pin, not like I'm going to be needing it later anyway. I hear screaming, then a boom dulled by the Psycho. I turn and aim down the now smoking hallway. There's a hole in the floor. Body was at the bottom, another one splattered against a wall. I could stop now. I only needed to kill one to be useful. I remember thinking that I wanted to be _really_ useful. I wanted to be the guy the boss could depend on. I wanted to be a Somebody.

A blast of laserfire from up the room ahead of me. Brown Hat was yelling something like "-SETTLEMENTS NEED OUR HELP!" Coming from him, it sounded more like, 'I'm going to splatter you across a wall.' Yikes, I need to kill him. I fired off two rounds but missed. Pop pop.

"There are Settlements...!" He yelled again for some reason. Pop pop pop. Still no hits. He's good, he advances on me when I duck behind a wall. Three bullets left, I turn the corner to aim at him, only to get cracked in the face by a rifle butt. I taste blood from my nose as I land on my back, Charlotte skidding away from my reach."Who NEED...OUR HELP!" Brown Hat screams like a maniac as his cranked up laser gun points at my face. I feel the Psycho leave my body. It was spent, so was I. My shoulder was on fire now, and I had a man with a gun in my face, about to cook my brains inside my skull.

I was so afraid to die.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

They say when you you're staring death in the face, down the barrel of a laser gun, your life flashes before your eyes. My life flashed back to all those other times someone had a gun to my face. There were many, to say the least. I could make a catalog just counting all the different types of hardware pointed my way. I was just thinking up a moniker for this particular piece that would mark my epitaph, 'Laser Musket' had a nice ring to it, when a huge furry shape bounded straight into Brown Hat and knocked him over.

"S-SETTLEMENTS -RRRGH!-" growled Brown Hat, his voice growing frantic as his doom neared his neck, snarling and snapping with bright white teeth. "SETTLEMENTS NEED... OUR... HEELL-LLUUUGHCCCKHKK-!" His last words were a scream that ended in a choking gurgle of blood.

I lay on my back, panting. I was exhausted from the Psycho and from the fight, not to mention blunt force trauma. I painfully sat up though, smiling a little at the specter of death itself.

"Mongrel, buddy... I owe ya... like all the molerat meat you can eat."

"Woof." I could swear to this day that he smiled back.

* * *

About a minute or so later I heard approaching boots and profanity. I had recovered Charlotte and was guarding the door to a little room that was off to the side. There were a few more scavvers left but they had given up as soon as Brown Hat kicked the bucket. An old woman, just like the Boss wanted, a young looking man huddled in a corner muttering to himself, and a woman nearby him, protectively resting her hands on his shoulders. I guessed they were siblings, or married.

Bess arrived first, grinning at me and whistling lowly. "You're a regular wrecking crew, aincha?"

"I aimed to please" I said, casual drawl to disguise the fear and frantic abandon I had experienced. "Figured this would make an impression."

"Consider it made. keep this up, and I might think yer tryin ta be top dog in this outfit" Warren grunts, He doesn't quite smile, since I don't think his face was made for it. He did smack my shoulder though, and I was almost certain he didn't know it was wounded at the time. "Walk it off."

Gristle made his way to me, "The old woman in there?"

"Yessir, boss."

"Good." he spat, "Saw the mess you made on the way in. Not bad, think you'll fit in just fine if you keep that up." He enters the room. "Well well, Murphy. Been awhile, your old bones doin' you good?"

"Hello John." the old woman says tiredly, "I wish I could say it was nice to see you again. Jared sent you, didn't he"

"Finally I can collect you and have him off my back for a while."

She sniffed, looking at the couple in the corner, "What about them?"

"Thought you could read the future... what's your Sight tellin' you now?"

She shared a look with the wife and looked away, "I don't need the Sight to know you people do terrible things to prisoners." she said the words 'you people' like she was spitting out something foul.

"Heh." He laughed. I remember laughs like that one. "Looks like you know the future after all." he nodded to Bess and another raider woman, this one had grey camo paint on her cheeks, nose and forehead. "Bess, Karla, tie up those three. I've got somethin' else I need to collect."

"Armor cannot save a crooked and poisoned heart." Old Woman Murphy whispered, "If you don that suit, Death will come for you first."

"Jared may believe your babble, but I for one do not." he grunts, walking over to kick the man in the corner, his wife glares up at him with eyes that burned with hatred. "Keep talking and I'll break his neck." Murphy fell silent. Gristle nodded once and pulled out a yellow cylinder, "New guy. let's get to the roof, might need you to help me with it. Warren, take four guys and grab whatever swag is left in this heap. Karla, start marching those prisoner's out with the rest of the crew."

I followed him up the stairs as the others went about obeying their commands. We pried open the door with one of my crowbars. The fact that I had several of different sizes hanging from a strap at my belt made the Boss raise an eyebrow. I replied with a shrug, "Never know, boss."

He actually laughed.

The suit was left standing beside the broken Vertibird. I was told that these things actually flew through the air, but I always found such claims ludicrous. It was vaguely bird shaped, but how could all this metal stay up in the air? I saw Gristle jam the yellow cylinder into the back of the suit.

"Fusion Core." he grunted, turning a wheel lock to open the cock-pit. "Picked it up in the basement, from the backup generator. these things last forever when powering things like that, these suits though?" he chuckled, "They eat em up like candy. So only the best of us get these. Ever seen one up close before?"

I nodded. "Brotherhood shake-down. nearly punched me through a wall."

"Brotherhood." he spits to the side as he gets in, the suit sealing around him. "Dirty stinking armored rats. Acting all high and mighty when they're no different from us." he flexed his now-robotic hand and brought it down on the brick wall beside the door. A sizable portion caved in. "I am gonna love this suit." he said, his voice taking on a strange, altered quality.

It seemed like a good moment. This was my new beginning. My boss was a hard boiled badass in power-armor, more importantly he was happy with me, I earned a place in a new gang, I had a kickass dog to back me up in a jam, there was a whole city to steal from. Life was beginning to look up for this former Fiend from the Mojave.

It was then we heard the boom. It wasn't rocking the building or anything, but it was loud enough for our collective "What the Fuck was THAT" instincts to go off. We rushed to the wall that acted as a railing and looked down at the street below. Down the street from the front entrance, the street... well, began jumping up and down. A metal plate was being pounded upward from below. In the street, Karla and the rest had frozen before rallying to break into one of the adjacent buildings.

Something like a hand smashed up from the metal plate, knocking it up and aside. A deafening and all-to-familiar roar echoed through the air as a demoniac horned face rose up from whatever pit was below.

"Shit." came the synthetic whisper from Gristle. Even the suit's vocalizer couldn't disguise his fear. "...Deathclaw."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Son of a BITCH!"

John Gristle must have been some kinda hard-ass. I was still rooted to the spot with fear as soon as the Deathclaw popped outta the ground. He turned around, stomped over to a mounted gun on one of the vertibird wings and began pulling on it with all the might of his ancient Pre-War servos. After a moment of grinding and shrieking of metal, he managed to wrench the mini-gun from its bolted-down mounting. He stomped back over, yelled, "FUCKING DOWN!" and pulled the trigger.

I only just barely managed to dive down behind him and cover my ears as a loud tattoo of thunderous booms tore through the air. Apparently he caught the deathclaw's attention, as I heard a scream of rage and hunger from down below, then a torrent of stomping that grew closer way too fast.

The rattle of the mini-gun ceased and I looked up in shock. Why had he stopped shooting? My shock turned into horror as I saw the armored figure slapping and banging at the mini-gun's loading feed. The gun jammed! I dared to look over the side wall to locate the deathclaw, only to come face to face with it's scaly face as it scaled the wall, talons digging easily into the ancient masonry. It was charcoal grey with a yellow underbelly. I also remember it only having one eye, the other having been clawed out, along with a good chunk of the right side of its face.

I am not ashamed to admit that I screamed like a little girl, leaping away as quickly as I could. It was that leap that saved my life, as it turned a blow that should have gutted me from left to right into one that only sent me flying into the vertibird. I blacked out.

* * *

I woke up on the ground floor of the museum, not on anything resembling a bed, but my rolled up duster was propping my head up as a pillow of sorts. I remember one of my crowbars digging into my unwounded shoulder. I was bare-chested, bruised black and blue in places, bullet wound in my shoulder. I was a wreck, but I was alive.

That thought made me really confused, so I tried sitting up. That action made me hurt really badly, so I went back to laying down. A face appeared over me. Possibly the most welcome, worried, friendly face I could have hoped for.

"Hey Mongrel." I croaked. "you feelin' okay boy?"

He got this big old dog grin on his face and I felt about three times less likely to kick the bucket. He chuffed a little and scooted over to me so he could put his head on my chest.

"That dog sure is something." A woman's voice said from behind me. I tried looking around but couldn't. "Ol' Dogmeat seems to have taken a liking to you." It was old woman Murphy.

"His name's Mongrel"

"Call him what you like, I know he doesn't mind" she moved over to where I could see her, plopping down a folding chair to sit in. "He's a good dog."

"Yeah." I said, reaching up to pet the mutt behind the ears. "Yeah he is... what happened?"

"Well. both you and John owe something to that dog today. I saw the whole thing. He of course wont give anyone else the whole story, but I saw it." She reached down to pet him with papery looking hands. "This dog, Mongrel, damn near bit that deathclaw's other eye out. It was a good distraction for John to tackle the beast off the roof." she sighs, "It has protected him so far, but I fear he wont listen to my warnings. He thinks he's immortal, he feels young again in that suit."

"He...tackled a deathclaw off a roof"

"Landed all of his weight on the thing's neck. you could here it break a mile away. Left a pretty crater, I can tell you."

I whistled lowly, closing my eyes, "Fucking hell..." I drifted off again after that. I dreamed of falling deathclaws. I woke up later to see Bess sitting nearby. She had gotten her shoulder bandaged up. Noticing someone had done the same to me, I grumbled. "So. anyone else napping or just me?"

Bess snorted at me, "Boss too. broken arm from the impact." she gave me a funny look, "Y'know, I thought you were some kinda bad-ass or something, from what happened in here."

I honestly did not expect this comment. "W-wait... thought?"

"Yeah, but. You got hit once and knocked out for half a day."

I sputtered and couldn't quite get the hang of speech outside of indignant expletives. She started laughing at me.

"Easy killer, just pokin' fun. not all of us can be as big and scary as the boss... or your dog, if the story's true."

"Oh just piss off, you lot were hiding in a building." I remembered grumbling.

"Don't you wish you were so lucky?"

I didn't have an answer for that, so I just sat up and groaned, cracking my neck, rubbed my now sore, though uninjured shoulder, and collected my duster. Charlotte was in her holster and, to my surprise, loaded with a full clip.

"Here" Bess said, tossing a packaged syringe at me, "Med-X. for the pain."

"Where'd you get this?" I asked, taken aback a little. Med-X was an expensive drug on the streets and out in the wastes. Few people knew how to make it anymore. It was great for dulling pain and forcing your body to keep going even when it didn't want to.

"It's one of mine. you shot that asshole with the laser rifle-"

"Musket" I said quickly. she only looked at me, confused. "Musket. the old timey rifle they cobbled together with laser weapon parts. figured it was a good name"

"Sure... okay. the asshole with the laser Musket." she rolled her eyes. Everyone's a critic. "You shot him. So. consider this payback."

"What kinda raider pays things back?" I really couldn't turn that off sometimes. Curse my sarcastic tongue, honestly.

"You want it or not?" she replied raising a fist under my nose, to which I could only raise my hands defensively and nod, not trusting myself to speak. She nodded in return, spun on a heel and stomped off. "Foods over here if you can eat"

* * *

Deathclaw Steaks are surprisingly tasty. I've had rad-gator before when I was traveling down south and it tasted basically the same. Gristle was up and eating as I approached the circle our gang made around a fire pit. He didnt look at me, but he gave a bit of meat to Mongrel, ruffling the dog's ears as he did. Mongrel didnt seem to mind him anymore. After some time of quiet eating, he spoke up, and everyone turned to listen to their Boss.

"We've been beat to shit" He began, chewing on a bit of deathclaw fat, "By lasers, bullets, landmines, ghouls, deathclaws, You name it, It's tried to put us in the ground... succeeded in some cases." he shrugs, "No use cryin bout it. that shit happens every day. That's this world now, you know. Those soft pukes in the walled cities, In the NCR, and the Brotherhood... They think that they can change this world. Think that somehow they're different from us just because they hold meetings and talk a lot before killin' folks and stealin' what they got." there were some nods and murmurs of agreement. "The only difference between us, is that they're soft, they're weak, and they're stupid. So why shouldn't we take what we want from 'em?" he held up a slab of deathclaw meat on the bone. "That's what this was. A Wake-up call. You think a Death Claw is any different from a walled up city? No. No... It's all a matter of how much you want to survive and how much the other guy wants it. We Won, so we Eat him. Yeah?"

There were some cries of "Yeah" from the back, though no one seemed to get what he angle he was working. He continued "We're strong, so we killed him, and we ate him. Like a pack of hound dogs." he nods, "...I'm Quits with Jared and the Corvega gang." there were startled mumbles, lots of sideways glances, but oddly no discontent. some people were even nodding in agreement. I suppose that this Jared wasn't very well liked. "You've followed me for years before that upstart little puke got to be a Boss. All of you, he's kicked us all around, Promised us chems, drugged half his troops to death, and sent us on this mission that took us through Lexington, because Ghouls scare him shitless. How many did we lose?" He looks over at Warren, who drew the eyes of everyone else.

"Twenty-three. Four dogs. Lots of supplies. Food. Drugs. Wasted ammo." Warren grunted between mouthfuls of meat.

"Twenty-three... and for what. Because that little shit wanted his gran-ma to tell him her stories about how he's king of the world..." He spat. "Fuck that. Fuck him. I'm done, and I'm taking you lot with me." His tone took on a more dangerous pitch, "All of you." and he looked directly at old woman Murphy.

"...go ahead... Can't really stop you, now can I?" She shrugged her shoulders a little, resigned to her fate.

"No. No, you can't."

"...Take the other two, please."

"What do I need with a crying useless worm and his dried up, titless whore."

"If they don't pull their weight, I suppose you will just kill them. You need numbers, John. All the help you can get. I've seen it."

The boss looked at her. Warren leaned in to mutter something in his ear. After a moment, Gristle nodded. "Bring 'em here."

A short while later, the couple were shoved to their knees in front Gristle. The man looked down, not meeting the eyes of the Raider Boss. His woman on the other hand, well. Let's just say that if she were a deathclaw, I wouldn't have liked the boss's chances of walking away from that fight. John Gristle was unimpressed.

"You want to eat?"

the two captives exchanged looks, not sure of what to say.

"Are you Deaf, or just Stupid. Do you want to eat?"

"Yes." came the quiet reply.

"Then you'll work. You work for me. If I tell you to do something, you better snap to it. If you don't work, if I even think you're gonna try somethin', I wont just kill you. I'll beat you both to jelly, do what I want for a couple days more and send whats left along to Nuka-World." he looks at the man, "Probably wont get any caps for you, but your woman. Well. I'm sure there's someone out there blind as you, lookin' for somethin' warm at night. Do I make myself clear?"

They both nodded. All was clear as Pre-War glass.

"Good." he nodded to Karla, who cut their bonds. "Eat. Sleep. Be ready to move at first light. We're going to look for a new base. Somewhere out of the way, where we can set up our own little slice of the Commonwealth." There were grins and nods of approval, as the future began to open up to this gang of robbers thieves and drug-addled maniacs. "It's just a question of where, now." Gristle mused to himself, stroking his chin with a greasy hand.

"...I might know a place"

All eyes seemed to swivel towards me. I was grinning, because I knew just the place for The Hound Dogs to claim as their own.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

We all made the trek back to Sanctuary Hills. We passed the Red Rocket Station, or what was left of it. Since I had been there, the whole booth with its long roof and dangling pumps had sunk into the ground, causing the whole thing to look lop-sided. Apparently the Molerats had dug so many tunnels under it that my earlier cave-in and resulting ruckus had caused much of the structure to collapse. Fortunately there weren't any of the little bastards alive.

We neared the entrance to the little town. There were the usual empty mutterings of dibs-calling and speculation of hidden Pre-War booze. Everyone seemed rather eager to start setting up shop, especially the spaced-out Jet-head I had seen fighting the jerks with Laser Muskets. He was the drug-cooker for the gang, quite knowledgeable about the various herbs and such we found on our way here. Apparently drugs do grow on trees, or something. His name was "Eyes-Wide" Sid, he had grown up with Bess in the Raider Gang that became the Corvega Rollerz under Jared. He was chatty, he made drugs, seemed really... calm for a Jet-head, so I made friends. It's always best to get on the good side of whoever makes your drugs, otherwise there could be a whole lot worse than spit in whatever you're shooting into your body.

Besides Sid, Karla, Bess and Warren, I spent a bit more time with one other guy, Brickshaw. Now, when I describe him as big, I don't want you to just imagine some guy with impressive muscles. Brickshaw was massive to the point of being able to pass for a runty Super-Mutant with a tan. He was the resident explosive expert. Grenades, C-4, Mines, Brickshaw knew how to dismantle and construct them all. He operated a Fat-Man he had personally customized ammo for. As a raider, he was less the type who would kill, rape, and maim than he was the type who grew up as the lonely big kid who probably got tossed out of more civilized places due to anger issues coupled with knowledge of high-explosives. He liked my dog, so he couldn't be all bad.

There were others of course; a younger girl named "Soldier-boy", Dan the cook, Kade with his all-denim/ductape outfit, another Jet-head named Hal, the sisters Vicky and "Knives", and the couple Murphy had convinced Gristle to take into the fold. All told, there were sixteen of us. I don't know when we started calling ourselves Hound Dogs, but I think it was right about this time, after we had gotten that speech from Gristle. It fit, we were a pack of animals, biting and snapping at anything in our way, trying to survive.

As we neared the center of town, I remembered that someone, a particularly shiny and metallic someone, was waiting for me. I remembered this right about the time when the Robot who'd been floating around this place turned an abrupt corner and trilled out to a very spooked and twitchy gang of raiders.

"HULLO~! Good to see you Sir! I see that you made... ah... Friends with the local color! Splendid. Perhaps we can have a Barbecue later. Nothing like a neighborhood barbecue to bring the community together!"

John Gristle turned toward me, his rifle trained on the Mr. Handy, "This your robot, Brennan?"

"Well. Er. Yeah. Or so he says." I muttered.

"Think it'll be any use? or should we just scrap it now."

To be honest, I kinda found the little robot annoying. Still, looking at the way it bobbed up and down so happily, and the way it sounded genuinely pleased to see us... Idunno. It struck me that you must be pretty lonely when the sight of a gang of raiders actually cheers you up with the prospect of company.

"Well?"

"Uh, Boss, I think it could be pretty damn useful." I said, thinking on the fly, "Those buzzsaw arms could break down scrap into workable bits for use to use in building this up, the flamethrower can be retrofitted into a welding torch. Robots don't eat or sleep so he could work all day... 'sides, he told me himself he's spoiling to be useful."

Gristle stroked his bristled chin. "Well, just keep it quiet while it works then." he shrugged and began making his way towards the rough center of town where there was an open garage with some workshop tools strewn about.

The various members of our gang split up, each claiming houses, useful-looking brick-a-brac, or talking to The Boss to set up defenses round the place. I was with the robot looking over the house he led me to. It was in a shambles like all the others, but at least it was in well-kept shambles.

"It's so good to have Sir at the old abode again... Home and hearth and all that" one of his bubble-eyes inspected my face, "I don't suppose you found any word of young master Shaun?"

I sighed, "Who is Master Shaun?" I had given up ignoring him by this point.

"Oh, Sir. You simply must remember..." the robot burbled softly, then perked up, "The Holotape! Oh sir, the Holotape I gave you from the Missus. Play it on your Pip-boy, I'm sure you'll remember then."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that I wouldn't since I wasn't who he thought I was. So I humored him, popping the tape in and clicking play.

There was a noise like the crackle of feedback, a woman started speaking. "Oops." The woman laughed, It was a nice laugh. she sounded... well, not like any woman I had met. She sounded happy, content, kind... sorta open and warm. Don't really know how to explain they way she sounded. In the background, I heard an infant making infant noises. "No, no, no. Little fingers away. There we go. Just say it. Right there. Right there. Go ahead." The infant giggled in a manner that wasn't really anything approaching speech yet. This just made the woman laugh more. "Yay! Hi honey! Listen... I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a father you are, but we're going to anyway. You are kind, and loving, and funny!" the infant on the holotape laughed, it was a child's laugh, happy and carefree. "That's right... And patient. So patient. Patience of a saint, my mom used to say."

I didn't know what to make of this, she was painting a picture of a rather charming life I never could have lead. Hell, I didn't even know if I ever wanted to be the person she described. At least, not before I heard her talk about it anyway. She continued on the tape, "Look, with Shaun, and us all being at home together... It's been an amazing year. But even so, I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes, sure. Things we'll need to adjust to. You'll rejoin the civilian workforce, I'll shake the dust off my law degree" Bunch of Pre-War phrases I didn't get the context for. Even still, that voice kept me rapt.

"But everything we do, no matter how hard... we do it for our family." Family was ... a difficult word for me to parse sometimes. The way she said it though, like it meant one beautiful thing and could never mean anything different, that was strange to my raider-raised ears. "Now say goodbye, Shaun... Bye bye? Say bye bye?" the infant, Shaun I had guessed, burbled something happily.

"Bye honey! We love you!" The tape ended, and what flashed on my screen nearly stopped my heart cold. It was a picture. A young woman, a baby boy with a tiny dusting of baby curls, and Me. It was a younger picture of me, without any of my burn scars and tattoos. His hair was shorter, his face was clean shaven, just plain clean really. The holotape screen faded and I found I had fallen into an old wooden chair.

What the hell was going on?


End file.
